


Sailor Take Warning

by ExpositionFairy



Series: Scorch the Skies [1]
Category: S.T.A.L.K.E.R. (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpositionFairy/pseuds/ExpositionFairy
Summary: The sky over the  Great Swamps is different in the aftermath of the last blowout.  Suslov decides he doesn't care for the look.  Not at all.(First chapter in a series of ficlets bridging the gap between Clear Sky and Shadow of Chernobyl from the point of view of various NPCs)
Series: Scorch the Skies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547404
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Sailor Take Warning

_ The sensation of the eerie occurs when there is either something present where there should be nothing, or nothing present when there should be something. _

\- Mark Fisher

\-----------

Suslov was getting the fuck out of here.

The sirens had woken them all just before dawn--what few of them were left, anyway. Almost the entire faction had taken off north with Lebedev, leaving only Suslov, Novikov, Cold, and a token handful of rookies to hold down the fort. So they’d all piled into the main shelter together. Nobody said much. Cold tried to start up a game of _durak _with some of the rookies but it was forgotten in about five minutes. After that they all just stared at the heavy steel door, at the red light flashing through the seam around the edges, and waited. It felt like it was going to go on forever this time. _Maybe the old man was right_, Suslov thought. _Maybe this time it will._

In the end, it didn’t. 

They emerged into silence an hour later, the sun painting a new but rather more mundane line of red through the clouds to the east, the final thunderbolts trailing away to nothing. Just silence. There were no boars or flesh crashing through the reeds and the muck, no howling and snarling of dogs, no distant gunfire. What few birds hadn’t fallen dead from the sky had apparently flown off to parts unknown as fast as their wings could carry them. No music, either. The radio was dead, as was just about everything electronic in the compound more complex than a battery-powered headlamp. Novikov’s best guess was that the blowout must have been strong enough to generate an EMP this time, but it was a half-ass guess without Lebedev and his eggheads there to confirm. 

Even the wind seemed to have fallen still.

The day dragged on and so did the silence. Novikov worked at trying to get the genny up and running again, cursing constantly and a little too loudly as he tinkered. Cold poured drinks and clinked bottles and sang badly in two languages just to break up the quiet. The rookies wandered aimlessly around the camp, ostensibly patrolling, regarding each other nervously and muttering about how eerie it was. As far as Suslov was concerned they could all fuck right off. It was all wrong here now.  _ Eerie _ was not the word. The word was  _ suffocating. _

Traders survived in the Zone largely by way of pattern recognition. Supply and demand, faction habits, customer habits. The cues and clues that marked good, usable information versus useless nonsense or utter bullshit. The best places to set up shop, and the signs and signals that meant ‘time to go’.

The rest of them could hold their breath waiting for Lebedev and the others to come back all they liked--Suslov wasn’t sticking around to watch them asphyxiate. Wasn’t  _ nobody _ coming back. Not this time. Suslov knew that as well as he knew his own name.

The Swamps were dead.  _ Clear Sky _ was dead, even if the rest of these sad fucking stragglers couldn’t see it yet.

Time to go.


End file.
